Hit a Snag
by ncfan
Summary: The Valar have a plan to get a Silmaril back to Aman, or rather Ulmo has a plan and the other Valar are just sort of letting him carry on without being interested enough to get involved themselves. However, that plan's hit a bit of a snag. Featuring: a persistent and obsessed Eärendil, an equally persistent and obsessed Elwing, and three sneaky Ainur.


I'm not the biggest fan of the Valar, but Ulmo appears to have been an alright sort of guy (for the most part), so maybe I'm a little softer on him than the others (Except Námo, but that's just because I find him to be a bit more fleshed out than the others).

I own nothing.

* * *

The Valar have a plan to save Middle-Earth, or rather, Ulmo has a plan to save Middle-Earth (the other Valar are more watching half-interested instead of actually doing anything to help), and it involves the two young Elves standing on the quays of Sirion now. Well, to be more specific, it involves the two young Elves being fare-welled and surrounded by their followers and admirers as they get ready to board the ship glimmering faintly in the early morning Sun.

Lurking on the riverbank, three small turtles, in actuality Ulmo, Ossë and Uinen, are congratulating themselves on a job well done. They are about to be able to get a Silmaril back to Aman thanks to Eärendil, whose ship the glimmering Vingilot is, and Elwing, possessor of the Silmaril who will be accompanying him today on his journey to Aman. Everything is going according to plan.

"Wait… Why is she turning away from the ship?"

Until that plan hits a bit of a snag, in the form of Elwing mounting her horse and riding back to the city proper of Sirion with her attendants.

Vingilot sails out of the tributary mouth, Elwing rides back to the city of Sirion, and one Vala and two Maiar are left rather thrown by this development, and very confused. Ulmo recovers first, looking to his Maiar with his watery eyebrows raised. "What just happened?" he asks incredulously, to himself just as much as to them. "Why didn't Elwing go with her husband?"

That's the rub. It seems incomprehensible that a male would be going somewhere he could never come back from and that his wife would _not _be going with him, though Ulmo supposes he might be a bit old-fashioned on that score—after all, Ossë and Uinen sometimes go years without seeing each other and seem perfectly happy in spite of or perhaps because of that, and there were plenty of nissi among the Noldor who chose not to follow their husbands, or chose to go their own way once they reached Middle-Earth. Yes, Ulmo supposes ruefully, he probably is a bit old-fashioned by Elven standards. _I must start paying closer attention to the directions their cultures are taking; this simply won't do._

Uinen sighs, shaking a bit of seaweed out of her long, flowing hair. "I'll go into the city and see if I can find anything out. My Lord." She tries bowing, but that's something rather difficult to do when you're in deep water from the waist down. "Ossë." Bidding a temporary farewell to her master and to her husband, Uinen dives beneath the gently rippling surface of the river and swims out of sight.

For the next two and a half hours, Ulmo and Ossë find themselves with nothing better to do than sit on the riverbank, soaking their feet absently in the water. Anyone who might see them only sees two turtles sunning on the riverbank, waiting for Uinen to come back and wondering exactly what the answer to Elwing staying in Sirion is. And when Uinen comes back, the number of turtles comes back to three.

"Well?" Ulmo asks her, trying not to sound too anxious.

Uinen sighs and shrugs her shoulders uncomfortably (An Elf who happens to be watching sees the third turtle shake its shell slightly). "There are three things, my Lord." She eyes him nervously. "I don't think you're going to like it."

Ulmo groans. "Of course I'm not. Just tell me, Uinen."

"One." Uinen holds up one finger (Her turtle form flaps its foot). "Elwing is High Queen of the Sindar, and though she is still counted as a child in the years of the Elves—"

"She certainly didn't _look _like a child!" Ossë interjects, gaping at his wife. "Yes, she was small, but is she really a child?"

"Evidently, and please don't interrupt me, my love. Elwing is High Queen, and though she is still counted as a child, she has begun to take her duties as Queen of the Sindar more seriously. As I understand it, there was even a coronation a month ago; I'm sorry to have missed it, it sounded quite nice."

Ulmo nods, rubbing his forehead in the vain attempt to ward off a headache (His turtle form nuzzles the soft, squishy ground beneath it). "Well I am sure that there were portraits commissioned; maybe you can buy a duplicate. What are the other two reasons you mentioned, Uinen?"

Uinen nods, now holding up two fingers. "Two. Elwing is terrified of sailing."

"What?!" Ossë all but explodes. "She's a Teler!"

One sharp glare from his wife shuts him up. "That doesn't mean anything; Elwing is also partly human, if you will recall. From what I understand it her mother, who _was_ a full-blooded Teler, was also terrified of sailing. Elwing won't even set foot on a ship; she's terrified that it's going to sink the moment she sets foot on it."

"And the third reason?"

"Ah. That." Uinen looks down at her hand as though contemplating holding up three fingers, but she grimaces, seeming to think better of it. "My Lord, the chances of Elwing relinquishing that Silmaril, either to us or even to her husband without a fight… Well, there _isn't _any chance of that happening. She's positively obsessed with it."

Ulmo gapes at her. "Obsessed?" Color floods into his face. "Obsessed?! What do you mean 'she's obsessed'?!"

"Exactly that, my Lord. I know the plan is to get Eärendil to take it so he can sail through the sky with the Silmaril, be a symbol of hope and all that so the Children don't despair, but the only way you're going to get that Silmaril out of Elwing's hands and into Eärendil's is if you render her unconscious first."

"Alright, Uinen. I just can't believe that someone can become obsessed with a jewel, even one as fair as the Silmaril. I know that Námo said that the Silmarils would inspire obsession, but I thought he was merely speaking of the House of Fëanor."

The wind gusting in her sodden hair, Uinen shoots her master a helpless look. "Evidently not. From what I heard while I was in Sirion, Elwing isn't the first person this has happened to. Thingol and Dior were both obsessed as well, and even Lúthien may or may not have had the same problem as them. My Lord, Elwing will not relinquish the Silmaril of her own free will, and neither will she get on a ship or even leave the city of her own will."

The Lord of the Waters lowers his face into his hands (And any Elf or Man happening to be watching is greeted to the sight of his turtle form ducking its head back into its shell). "Alright." His voice comes out as muffled, but still distinct, and nearly despairing. "I'll just alter the course of the Straight Road so that Eärendil can't find it until we find a way to get Elwing on that ship. We'll deal with getting the Silmaril away from her once we get that far."

-0-0-0-

That ought to have been a simple matter. Eärendil should have come back after a few weeks, frustrated and in need of supplies, trying to recoup his losses and get a hold on better maps, and from there, it was a simple matter of getting Elwing onto her husband's ship. It need not be for long; all Ulmo needed was for her to set foot on it, and Ossë could influence the waters of the river mouth to get Vingilot back out on the open sea with Elwing on deck. Ulmo would set the course of the Straight Road so that Vingilot was on it, and he and his Maiar would fix things so the ship got to Aman quickly and Elwing didn't have a nervous collapse from her apparent fear of sailing in the meantime.

But, as it turns out, there's a _fourth _thing Ulmo and his Maiar weren't counting on.

"I don't understand it," Ulmo grumbles, watching Eärendil as he boards his ship. They are not in Sirion, as Ulmo had hoped they would be, but far to the south of that city, at a port in Belfalas. The locals were quite impressed with Eärendil's ship, but the young mariner is now again heading out for the high seas, still in search of the Undying Lands. "Why go to all this trouble? Why should Eärendil not just head back for Sirion when he's run out of supplies? Why exactly is he so intent on finding Aman?"

Uinen looks over at him and frowns. "Didn't Eärendil's parents set sail looking for Aman?"

"_Oh, no._"

He's searching for his parents, and that makes Eärendil frankly obnoxiously persistent. He tries for long months to find Aman, not turning back until the very last moment when he and his crew have all but completely run out of supplies. Finally, he goes back to Sirion, but more because he was missing Elwing than because he'd given up on finding Aman or because he felt the need to gather more supplies.

However, Elwing still won't come aboard the ship. Eärendil certainly tries; he practically begs her to come aboard Vingilot and _"just have a look around." _Elwing just glares… Well, no, she doesn't quite glare. She gives him this sort of look, brow heavily furrowed, that doesn't really qualify as a glare, but does communicate, quite clearly "_In what lifetime do you honestly believe that I will _ever _go aboard that thing?" _Eventually, he stops trying.

Eärendil comes, and he goes, and comes and goes again, and Elwing never goes with him, nor even sets foot on Vingilot. They have children, but that doesn't really cramp Ulmo's plans. They could always find a way to get Elwing _and _the twins on Vingilot at the same time as their father, or after Eärendil and Elwing landed safely in Aman, Ulmo could always contact the Elves of Sirion and have Elrond and Elros come to Aman to live with their mother. It would be so simple, but it just doesn't happen.

The visits of Eärendil to Sirion grow less and less frequent.

Ulmo finds himself watching mother and sons down on the shores in the evenings and early mornings. He takes the form of an albatross or a fish or the waves themselves, making sure that Elwing's tiny twins don't go out too far. Drawing the waves back when they, or rather, Elros (Elrond seems quite content to plop down at his mother's feet and draw strange shapes in the sand with a pudgy hand), venture near the water is no use—Elros will just chase after the receding water, shrieking with laughter. _Fine. Just be vigilant, then._

Elwing stares out into the horizon, fingering the jewel ever-present around her neck, eyes glazed and abstracted. Ulmo senses her sadness, dull and numb beneath the weight of duty and the burning of obsession, and winces in sympathy.

Then, the sons of Fëanor come to Sirion, and Maglor chases Elwing up the stairs of her palace.

Ulmo has no great love for the sons of Fëanor, and well aware is he that Ossë despises them for their slaughter of the Swan-Elves and that Uinen isn't terribly fond of them either, but he can have some pity for them. They were drawn into this by their father, whom they followed in blind obedience, and have remained so fixated on recovering the Silmarils both out of guilt over their father's demise, and the obsession that binds all those who desire the Silmarils to the fate of the jewels. All the same, though, a wave of panic sweeps over him, as Ulmo sees his plan starting to fall apart again.

This is bad. This is very, very bad. If Maglor so much as lays a finger on that Silmaril, it will darken and no longer be of any use for the plan whatsoever. Elwing's cornered; how is she going to…

"Did she just jump?" Ossë asks incredulously.

Ulmo and his Maiar watch, incredulously, as Elwing falls backwards out of a window on the highest floor of her palace. "By the Powers, she _did _jump!" Ossë exclaims, aghast as they watch her fall, a white blur on a pale blue horizon, the Silmaril flashing bold and bright in Arien's light. "I can't believe this! I understand her not wanting to give the Silmaril to that murdering bastard, but doesn't she have children somewhere in that palace?!"

But Ulmo is shaking his head as hope floods into his heart again. "No, no, Ossë, don't shout, this is good."

Now Uinen looks at him in disbelief, gaping. "Good?" Her voice is high-pitched and cracking. "Good?! How is this good?! The fall must be more than a hundred feet; the poor girl will be killed the moment she hits the rocks!"

"Oh hush, you two, and watch me."

Elwing falls, and she does indeed hit the rocks, and the water. Her bones crunch sickeningly on sharp and jagged stone, and her prone body sinks beneath the surface of the water, but she is not dead, not yet. Ulmo keeps his eyes on Maglor, who is at the window Elwing fell from, leaning out of it as though he's contemplating jumping himself. _Move away from the window. Come now, move. _Finally, Maglor comes away from the window, shoulders hunched and head bowed, and Ulmo does his work.

It is good that Elwing is not dead yet, for Ulmo has many powers, but bringing back the dead isn't one of them. A great white bird bursts up from the waves and the foam, the Silmaril set in its necklace at the bird's breast. This bird is Elwing, transfigured into such a shape by Ulmo—the fact that the girl has Maiarin blood, however diluted, eases the transformation.

Ulmo can change Elwing's shape, but he can't make the bird shape she's now assumed fly any faster than a normal bird would. It takes four days, flying south without stopping, for Elwing to reach Vingilot.

The plan is back underway. Eärendil and Elwing are reunited, and sailing south towards Belfalas to resupply before trying to find Aman again; Ulmo hasn't quite figured out how he's going to get Elwing to relinquish the Silmaril, but at least he's finally gotten her on the ship. Elrond and Elros are fine as well; Maglor found them, and he and Maedhros rescued them from the chaos of the Third Kinslaying.

Ulmo sits unseen with his elbows resting on the rails of Vingilot. He's sent Ossë and Uinen back to Valinor to report to Manwë and receive further instructions, and watching Eärendil and Elwing rather makes him smile. Elwing does so remind him of Lúthien…

Two small splashes to his left and right alerts Ulmo to the return of his Maiar, and he looks to them for news. "Well?"

Neither Uinen nor Ossë look particularly eager to share their news. "You're not going to like it," Ossë says reluctantly, echoing his wife's words of some ten years prior—or was it eleven? However, unlike Uinen, Ossë doesn't need further prompting to share his news. "Lord Manwë says that we can't re-adjust the course of the Straight Road to admit Vingilot until Elwing gives the Silmaril to Eärendil. Of her own free will, he says."

"But that could take years!" Ulmo exclaims, horrified. "Moringotto could have already wiped out all of Beleriand by that time!"

Now Uinen pipes up, fingering a strand of her hair apprehensively. "My Lord, do you know how you pressed Elwing to fly straight to Vingilot, for four days without any rest?"

"Yes…"

"Melyanna's found out about you 'influencing' her great-granddaughter to nearly kill herself getting to Eärendil. She's not at all happy with you."

Ulmo resists the urge to bash his head against the side of the ship, but he can't restrain a groan.

He hadn't thought of that.

* * *

Melyanna—Melian  
Moringotto—Morgoth

Nissi—women (plural: nís)


End file.
